


Stripped

by petyrbaealish



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: American Politics, F/M, based on a prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-24 01:16:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12001887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petyrbaealish/pseuds/petyrbaealish
Summary: Based on a prompt on tumblr for my 300 Follower Celebration!The prompt: "what about a modern au pxs where petyr is running for president and sansa is his assistant? idk if you watch house of cards but i always saw parallels between frank and our boy"Since I haven't seen House of Cards, I just did my own thing, really. But I think it turned out pretty well. I kept the politics rather vague, since I have strong opinions and I didn’t want to put anyone off the story with them. I don’t mention the parties by name, nor did I purposefully group the candidates together to imply what the parties are, because I just didn’t want to get into that. They can be our actual parties or simply made up ones :). Hope you like it!





	Stripped

It all started, strangely enough, with a bet. You’d think that the two people currently vying for the presidency of the United States would be above such things, but, at least in this case, you’d be wrong in that particular assumption. The tensions during this campaign season had been higher than normal, fraught with scandal and intrigue of the most sensational caliber. Robert Baratheon had begun his bid for reelection in high spirits, only to overindulge in a rather different sort, and succumb to alcohol poisoning. His ever faithful childhood friend, vice president, and running mate, Eddard (more commonly referred to as Ned) Stark had reluctantly stepped up to the plate after the president’s untimely demise, running the country as well as his own campaign, in hopes of sticking to Robert’s overall agenda for America.

Ned Stark had never wanted fame, and had little taste or talent for politics, honest to the bone and stubborn to a fault, both of which impeded his successes in the area. But Robert had insisted that Ned join him as his vice president four years ago, and it seemed that loyalty had won out in the end. After Robert’s death, the first lady and her family were less than pleased by the turn of events, no longer in the spotlight that they craved, shunted aside for Ned’s family, but there was little they could do about it. America had never subscribed to the notion of succession to important leadership roles through blood ties, preferring instead to elect those of highest rank. Much as Cersei Baratheon longed to take over for her husband, or to put her eldest son into power, the right to lead fell indisputably on Ned Stark’s shoulders.

Of course, that hadn’t stopped Cersei from running her own campaign, once the time came for the next presidential election, but the former Lannister hadn’t made it far before she abruptly canceled her bid for the position. There were rumors of blackmail, hints of infidelity and acts far more deplorable, though nothing had been officially confirmed until sometime later, when Robert’s brothers, Stannis and Renly, filed a lawsuit against Cersei. It seemed that someone had anonymously given them access to proof that Cersei had been involved in Robert’s death, and the brothers were determined above all else to seek retribution.

Both of Robert’s brothers, also initially had hopes for the presidency, though in opposing parties. Renly flourished far better than his older brother, though neither did exceptionally well. They were easily overshadowed by Ned and another contender, Daenerys Targaryen, who had set her sights on the prize despite her youth, her campaign one for the history books, blazing along a path yet untread. Her following grew by the second, each supporter more enamoured with the silver haired beauty than the last.

It seemed certain that she would secure the nomination for her party, until disaster struck. Daenerys had begun her campaign several months into her first pregnancy, heedless of the warnings that the stress would be far too much to handle if she persisted in doing so. Still, the baby had prospered, until one night, Daenerys and her husband were involved in a horrific car accident. She lost the baby that night, and Drogo soon after, though he’d lingered awhile in a coma before succumbing to his injuries. Grief stricken, she’d pulled herself out of the running, leaving Ned free to capture his party’s nomination.

The opposing party was less exciting as it sought its own nominee, after Cersei and Renly dropped from the race, the two most prominent contenders famous for their rags to riches stories. Varys, known by his first name alone, was equally known for his skills in politics as well as for his successes in Hollywood, his countless roles earning him more than a few accolades as he juggled climbing up the political ladder. In contrast, Petyr Baelish was a self made man, working his way through the corporate world with incredible ingenuity, before dabbling in politics, first as governor of his home state, and then as a senator.

Both men were wickedly smart, knowledgeable in endless subject matters, and even more well informed than most of their peers, including those vying for the nomination in the opposing party. Varys started with quite an edge over Petyr in the polls, his worldwide fame helping his cause considerably, though it wasn’t long before the scales tipped against his favor. While incredibly talented, Varys had never been one to look at, and his eccentricities stood in stark contrast to Petyr, whose charms were considerable and only outpaced his impeccable manner of dress, both of which highlighted his handsome features.

In the end, Petyr Baelish and Ned Stark were the only ones left standing (save for Mance Rayder, running under the support of a minor party that had little chance of success), the general public eagerly eating up their every interaction, mindful of the past the two shared. It became a media frenzy, a reality show the whole world was watching, as both men strove towards their goal. The scandal surrounding their connections had come to light early in the race, a media darling for the public to fixate on and quench their thirst for drama. It was speculated that even if Daenerys, Stannis, Renly, and Cersei hadn’t dropped out due to personal matters, the history between Ned and Petyr would have brought them to the forefront regardless. Everyone loved a good scandal, and theirs was the most satisfying of them all.

Long ago, when both men were merely boys, they’d each loved a girl. Catelyn Tully had stolen both of their hearts, though not intentionally so. Petyr had been the youngest of the three, and though Cat had always liked him, it was far more along the lines of brotherly affection. Instead, her sights were on the older and more universally coveted Ned Stark, strong and silent, with the potential for a dangerous temper brewing just under the surface. The two boys had fought over her, each believing Cat returned their feelings, spurred on by an excess of pilfered alcohol. Only when they’d fallen into a glass coffee table, a shard slicing straight through the length of Petyr’s chest, did they finally stop, sobering quickly at the gravity of the situation.

This mutual past, coupled with the fact that Ned had gone on to marry Catelyn Tully, only spurred the tension between the two men, helped along by the persistent media. Rumors were rampant that Petyr still bore a torch for Cat after all these years, that he’d only decided to run for presidency in hopes that in doing so he could win her affections. This was only exacerbated by the fact that at forty, he was still single. At nearly every opportunity, Petyr was pelted with questions surrounding his lovelife, the same questions directed back at Ned and Cat, though theirs were more focused on whether they were truly happy, and if Cat was tempted by the boy she’d rejected all those years ago.

In truth, Petyr had never really gotten over Cat, much like most never give up on their first love, but he no longer had any inclination towards pursuing her. He was smart enough to know a lost cause when he saw it, and after four years of being bombarded with the happy Stark family and their times in the White House, he was certain that ship had sailed. His aspirations for becoming president had never stemmed from his pipe dreams as a boy, though he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t going to enjoy triumphing over Ned, in this regard at least. It was somewhat petty, but then he’d always been one to toe the lines of morality.

Over the years, yet another red head had caught his eye, this one seemingly more unattainable than Cat, though that hadn’t stopped his heart from gravitating her way. Sansa Stark, the eldest daughter of Ned and Cat, was strikingly beautiful, more so than even Cat had ever been, with a startling intelligence hidden behind those clear blue eyes. He’d first seen her at Robert’s inauguration, back when she’d still been jailbait, though they hadn’t even spoken a word to each other at the time. She’d smiled at him, a tentative lift of her lips as he’d congratulated Robert and Ned afterwards. Petyr had awarded her with his patented smirk, his mouth quirking more dangerously as she’d blushed and averted her gaze.

Since then, they’d only met a handful of times, never finding a moment to speak, though Petyr had kept careful watch over her whenever they attended the same functions. There was still an innocence to her regard that he found utterly charming, so refreshing to see of one caught in the public eye. Over time, that innocence had diminished, though not completely, her shrewd mind developing further in an attempt at self preservation. He’d watched from afar as she dated the eldest Baratheon boy, seemingly head over heels in love with the ungrateful cad, until the wool had been pulled from her eyes and she’d suffered through an immensely painful public breakup.

As Petyr strove towards commander in chief, his goal became not the position, or the love of Cat, but of her daughter. With every glimpse he caught of Sansa Stark, in print or on screen, he was drawn further into the flames, until the heat was suffocating. He wanted her, more than anything, loved her, more than anyone. And perhaps if achieved something that few had done in this country, securing the presidency, then maybe, just maybe, he could achieve something even further out of his depth. The media was right to question his motivations for the position, though they were so focused on his past that they couldn’t see his present. Sansa, not Cat, was the reason for every move he made.

And so, with this in mind, Petyr had challenged Ned, on camera, the whole of America watching. They were exchanging playful banter before their latest debate (or rather, Petyr was toying with Ned, in an attempt to unsettle him, while Ned tried to ignore him, occasionally taking the bait and snapping back) when the moderator asked them who they supposed might win that night.

“I would have thought the answer to be obvious,” Petyr said, smirking as he stroked his chin.

Ned’s eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t be so confident, if I were you.”

“Why, are you being fed answers through your earpiece?” Petyr quipped.

Ned’s skin flushed, a vein making its presence known near his temple. “I can assure you, I would never dream of such a thing.”

Petyr shrugged. “If you say so. Though I personally think you would benefit from a little outside help.”

Ned gritted his teeth. “You’ll be singing a different tune before the night is over.”

Petyr cocked his head to the side. “Care to make a wager on that front?”

His opponent looked baffled. “What could you possibly have that I want?”

“Well, a far better sense of style, for one,” Petyr replied loftily. “I could always offer you some fashion advice, if perchance you actually pull a win for tonight out of your ass.”

“Fine,” Ned growled. “You’re on. If I win, then you keep your mouth shut unless we’re on camera. I’d rather not talk to you anymore than is strictly necessary.”

“Seems like a poor prize, depriving yourself of my witticisms, but I suppose it’s your choice,” Petyr drawled. “Now, as for my end, I think I could use a little extra help for my campaign.”

Ned furrowed his brow. “What?”

“My personal secretary just left on maternity leave,” Petyr explained. “I thought perhaps you wouldn’t mind sparing someone from your team. Just think of the publicity, a little goodwill gesture to your opponent.”

Ned frowned. “I suppose,” he said hesitantly.

“Excellent,” Petyr said, just as the red light indicated that the cameras were rolling, broadcasting them live to the rest of the country. “Then we’re in agreement. If I win tonight’s debate, you’ll send your daughter, Sansa, to come work for me for the duration of my campaign.”

The moderator chuckled as the camera swung back to face him, having previously been focused on Petyr and Ned, catching their pre debate chatter. “Well there you have it folks! It’s not enough for these two to simply win a debate. They must raise the stakes!” He turned to Ned. “And what will you receive if you win tonight, Mr. Stark?”

Ned looked completely gobsmacked, his mind grasping at something coherent to say. Petyr knew that Ned couldn’t very well repeat his earlier wish, and that the man was furious he’d just agreed on air to send his daughter over to work with his opponent. He enjoyed watching the cogs in Ned’s brain sluggishly working out just how he could fix this, though he was careful not to show it, merely looking interested in whatever Ned might propose.

Ned worked his jaw, before finally mumbling something about fashion tips (Petyr was thankful for his impeccable self control at that moment. As it was, his sides felt like they were going to split from repressed laughter). The moderator raised his eyebrows, then shook off the awkward silence that followed and opened the debate.

The end result was nearly unanimous among sources on both sides. Petyr had outwitted Ned at every turn, using his opponent’s rage over the stunt from earlier against him, all the while remaining cool and collected. Ned fumbled through every question, snapping as he struggled to regain his footing, flailing as Petyr deftly pushed him off the edge. It was almost laughable, how easy it had been. Once Petyr had brought up Sansa, he’d won, the rest child’s play in comparison. He probably could have held back, even slept through the questions, and still triumphed, though he took a sick pleasure in absolutely destroying Ned instead.

The next day, Ned, always a man to hold up his end of the deal, sent his lovely daughter over to Petyr’s campaign headquarters. She arrived bright and early, dressed sensibly in a fitted black suit that showed off her shapely legs, and looking more than a little nervous. Petyr was seated behind his desk, nursing his third cup of coffee as he scrolled through that day’s news, taking a small break from his numerous responsibilities. His campaign manager, Olyvar, had brought Sansa straight to his office when she’d come in, as per Petyr’s instructions.

Sansa thanked Olyvar with a small smile, wringing her hands as she watched him depart, closing the office door softly behind him. The nervous energy prickling around her washed over Petyr as he set down his coffee cup and leaned back in his chair, allowing his eyes to rake over her slender form.

“Good morning, Miss Stark. I trust you found us okay?” he began, trying not to let her anxiety seep into his veins.

She nodded. “I did,’ she said quietly, gazing at him through lowered lashes.

Petyr offered her a smile and gestured for her to sit opposite his desk. “Please, sit. Would you like some coffee? I’ve just about finished my third, and the next run is coming up for Starbucks. I can text Olyvar with your order.”

Sansa shifted in her seat. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking if you want coffee?”

He chuckled. “No. Coffee runs are for the whole staff. We’ve got volunteers for that sort of thing. You’ll be doing clerical work, mainly.”

She nodded, still looking nervous, her teeth worrying at her lower lip. Petyr tried not to stare. Finally, she met his gaze, a sudden determination flashing in her eyes. “Why did you want me here?”

Petyr raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t expected her to be so blunt about it. “It was a strategic move, meant to unsettle your father before the debate. I needed a new assistant, and I knew the best way to get under your father’s skin would be to ask for one of his children to fill the position. Doing it on camera allowed me further leverage, backing him into a corner so that he couldn’t say no, which only made him angrier.”

She frowned, considering this. “But why me? Why not Robb? He’s far more knowledgeable in this sort of thing than I am.”

“Perhaps in experience, though I’m sure you’re a quick study,” Petyr said, trailing his finger along the rim of his coffee cup. Sansa didn’t look convinced, and he continued. “Not to mention, you’re much prettier to look at than your brother.”

He left out the fact that due to his past with her mother, choosing Sansa would rankle Ned far more than if he had chosen any of the others. And, of course, the fact that all of those reasons paled in comparison to his true motivations. He’d just wanted an excuse to be in her company constantly, and what better way to do it?

A ghost of a smile flashed across her features before her lips turned downwards. “Is that all?”

“Do I need another reason?” he queried. “Wits and beauty seem more than adequate to me, as far as qualifications go.” He paused. “Not to mention, I’m sure Robb would have been far less cooperative. He seems to take after your father quite a bit.”

Sansa bit her lip, considering him for a moment. “Very true. Though I thought perhaps you’d have some ulterior motive.”

“And why is that?” Petyr sat forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his desk as his hands propped up his chin.

She shrugged. “You always seem to have one, in whatever you do. People don’t always catch it, but it’s always there, lingering under the surface, if only you care to look.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Have you been studying me, sweetling?”

A blush crept upon her pale cheeks. “Not intentionally. You’re running for president against my father. I’m bound to hear things.”

Petyr smirked. “And here I’d been hoping otherwise.” 

“Really?” She looked dubious. Oh, she was precious. So beautiful and so perfect, and yet blissfully unaware of her charms. How rare was that?

“Of course. Doesn’t every man dream of a beautiful woman interested in his every move?”

Sansa laughed. “I think that qualifies as stalker behavior.”

He shrugged. “Call it what you will. It’s still a nice boost for the ego.”

She grinned at that, visibly relaxing in her chair. “Well, perhaps you’re not too far off the mark,” she admitted, her look turning sly. “You’re quite an interesting man, after all.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Petyr replied, reaching for his coffee and frowning when he found it empty. “As will coffee. I’ve been running on obscene amounts of caffeine as of late, and I’m suddenly desperately in need of another fix.” He stood. “Come, let’s go out for a bit, and I’ll fill you in on what to expect.”

It had been the best decision he’d ever made, tricking Ned into allowing Sansa to work for him. Not only was he falling for her, harder than ever before, but she seemed to like him too. And they worked exceptionally well together, her anticipating his every want, him knowing exactly when she needed a kind word or gesture. A month passed in a blur, helped along by the chaos of running a presidential campaign, and by the easy camaraderie they had together. She kept him sane, during long, sleepless nights, made him laugh when things went horribly wrong, soothed his soul when he’d become snappish over the interminable stress.

One night, they were working late in his hotel room, fresh from another campaign rally in one of the swing states. Sansa was sprawled out across his unmade bed, barefoot as she tapped away at her laptop, transcribing his jumbled thoughts as he laid the groundwork for his next speech. Petyr was pacing about the room, his shirtsleeves rolled up and tie undone, hair standing up from all the times he’d run his hands through it. He was absolutely exhausted, but there was still so much to do. There was always so much to do. It never stopped. Sometimes he wondered if this was all worth it, truly.

Groaning, he halted by the bed and flopped down on the mattress, his back cradled by the soft comforter as he scrubbed his hands over his face. Beside him, Sansa shut the laptop with a snap and pushed it to the side, rolling over to face him. She poked him in the side, eliciting another groan from his lips, then trailed her fingers lower and tickled his waist.

Petyr wasn’t the slightest bit ticklish, but he lowered his hands from his face regardless, starting slightly when he noticed how close she was, her face mere inches from his. She looked tired too, but still impossibly beautiful, her hair a fiery cascade down her shoulders. Without thinking, he shifted closer, moving onto his side, reaching out to tuck her hair out of her face. Her eyes fluttered closed at his touch, and he couldn’t help letting his fingers linger as they skimmed her soft cheek.

Fuck, this was real, wasn’t it? Here they were, alone in his hotel room, atop his king sized bed, inches apart, so close that their breaths mingled, lemon and mint tangling together in exquisite harmony. Petyr moved closer still, letting his nose brush against hers, and a tiny sigh escaped her lips as the corners turned upwards, and she nuzzled him back, eyes drifting open lazily to meet his. They stared at each other for a moment before he closed the distance and kissed her, their lips meeting in a gentle press that lingered, an infinitesimal moment of bliss that held so much promise, if only they were to give into its pull.

As they pulled back, both hesitant, each simultaneously decided to take the plunge, their lips snapping back together as if caught on a spring coming back to itself. Petyr threaded his fingers through her hair and tugged her closer still, parting her lips with his tongue as she wound her arms around his back. Sansa shivered under his touch as their bodies melded together, one of her legs hooking around his waist as the kiss grew more fervent.

Soon, they were fumbling out of their clothes, mouths still hot and insistent as they tugged blindly at their garments. And there she was, bare before him, and so breathtakingly gorgeous that his mind blanked from the lack of oxygen reaching his lungs. Petyr kissed every inch of her that he could reach, his hands roaming her smooth, unblemished skin, cupping her breasts and the curves of her ass, slipping between her thighs to find her slick heat.

His tongue laved at her clit, stroking the sensitive little nub as he curled his fingers inside of her, finding the spot sure to make her squirm. Sansa’s hips jerked upwards, her hands reaching down to fist in his hair, dragging him closer as she neared her peak. Petyr kept up his attentions until she shook beneath him, his name falling nearly incoherently from her petal pink lips, then ran his tongue up the length of her body, attacking her neck as she recovered.

When she reached for his cock, trailing the swollen head against her sex, he kissed along her jaw until their mouths met, and pushed into her waiting heat, groaning as her walls clenched around him. He’d learned early on that she was on the pill, a fact which he was grateful for as the sensation flooded his senses, free from the barriers that would have stolen the glory of the moment. They found a rhythm easily enough, their bodies nearly as in tune as their minds, hips thrusting in a tempo only they knew, lips together until they were forced to break away, their movements requiring more oxygen intake than kissing would allow.

Petyr felt his skin sheen with sweat, his heart palpitating with increased rapidity as they chased the freedom they sought. Sansa was writhing underneath him, clawing as his back as their hips continued their hurried pace, random epithets spilling from her mouth. Harder. Faster. Right there. Oh gods, yes. Yes, Petyr! Oh gods, don’t stop. Petyr!

Her last word before salvation was his name, a strangled cry as she became one with the light, and Petyr’s movements became frantic as he dematerialized right along with her. It was a blinding bliss, a moment of pure euphoria as they stilled and collapsed into each other’s arms, breaths harsh. Sansa pulled him tighter against her as their mouths met again, lips meeting in fleeting presses until they slowly drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, the sun filtered through the gauzy curtains, rousing Petyr from the best sleep he’d had in a thousand lifetimes. Sansa was still there, her head pillowed on his chest, lips hovering just above the scar he’d earned as boy, breath ghosting along the tender flesh. As he watched her, chest rising and falling with each gentle breath, he suddenly felt stripped, absent of everything, everything save for words such as contentment, joy, serenity. Love.

He’d always been an ambitious man, and yet here and now, with Sansa in his arms, in his heart, he felt that she could be enough. Let her father have his seat in the White House, the office taking years off of his life. What draw did such a position hold, anyway, when compared to Sansa Stark?

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously I still have some feels about the finale. Ultimately, I think, given the choice of Sansa or the game, he’d choose her, though I also like to think that she doesn’t make him choose, and they play the game together instead.
> 
> Thoughts appreciated <333


End file.
